Miscarriage and the Broken Road

October is pregnancy and infant loss awareness month. For the last 30 days, I have thought of the beautiful lights that have been extinguished too soon. I have thought about all of my friends and acquaintances who have experienced this grief and I hold each of your losses in my heart as I think of my sweet angel babies too. Nine months ago I had my 4th miscarriage. Today, someone I don’t know had one too. Yesterday, someone had a still birth, Last week someone found out they can never have children. Tomorrow, someone will find out there is no heartbeat. Their wombs have failed. Their hormones have betrayed them. They were victims of bad timing. They found out chemo made them infertile. There are so many that will never know why. Every day in October, women all over the world remember these moments during pregnancy & infant loss awareness month. It is estimated that one in four pregnancies will end in loss. Why don’t we talk about this? Why don’t we share this? Many people believe that if you can’t see it, hear its heartbeat or tangibility feel it with your hands, that is doesn’t exist. To “us” they all lived and died and should be remembered. This month I could have been nine months pregnant or maybe I would have given birth by now and I would be a sleepless mommie zombie for Halloween with leaking breasts and bags under my eyes. I will never know, but I do know this, I am not alone and neither are you. I share my life with readers on a daily basis and don’t usually hold back. This last miscarriage was harder that I had expected and I wasn’t ready to share. I needed to meet this new grief head on and learn to work around its jagged edges. This past week, I took part in a grief panel at Vidant Hospital called Giving Voice. We were asked to share with the audience of over 160 people on what grief has taught us. It was the first time I said out loud to people I didn’t know that I had not one, but four miscarriages and that grief no matter what shape it takes will not shape me negatively but affect me positively. Each loss is a step up, a step toward knowing and loving myself more. My grief blog has allowed me over the last five years to share the heartache, the grief that wraps our hearts in pain every day, no matter what we’ve lost. It may be children, parents, lovers, sanity, control, our memory, or a number of other things. I love meshing our stories together showcasing that we all have walked this same path and miscarriage & infant death is a loss too that should be shared and valued just as much as any other loss. I encourage you to read today’s blog called The Broken Road. This is not just my journey, but the journey of others including Elaine Elaine Martschenko Hughes and Tabitha Melton.

Growing up, my parents taught me that we each have a life path. It’s a road already planned out for us and no matter what choices we make, bad or good, the path will always be there. It won’t always be straight, paved in gold, dotted with directions, or clean and smooth. It will wind at times so quick and fast, it will make your head spin. Other times, the road is flawless, glistening from the sun and blooming flowers are at your side. As we grow, we walk down the path through the stages of our life. We graduate Kindergarten, and the next thing we know, it’s decades later and we are graduating with a college degree, falling in love, making mistakes, and enjoying the beauty of life. The road is our book, it’s our life story and as each memory is made, and each step taken, the memories are stored along the road like trees that root themselves in the earth, pushing down and then up until they reach the sun. My mom told me sometimes you don’t always get what you want. The road if life will stop at times and test you with pot holes and broken dreams. You will have to find a way to walk through the chaos that presents itself and keep going, never giving up. You can stand at the pothole in your road and scream at it and ask it why, why did you do that, but it won’t change. You can’t go back down your path. You can look back on your path, but you must keep moving forward.

This brings me to my newest grief. A grief I know, a 4th pothole on my life road called miscarriage. When I was 35, Craig and I finally decided we wanted to have a baby. I didn’t want kids for years. I was a full time nanny for 3 children when I was in college and in my twenties. I loved watching Collin, Nathan, Alicia and the neighbors kids Ashley and Christian grow and learn and I love them as if they were all my own. They are all in their twenties now and I love to see how they walk their own roads. I even helped take care of my best friend’s son, Grayson. His mom died when she was 41 and Grayson was only 2 ½. I babysat him for years and still get to watch that sweet little soul, my “little brother” grow into a beautiful young man. He is twelve now and we paint pottery together and watch movies and have a blast. He is my adopted family and I love him as if he were my own. I got pregnant the first time when I was 35. It was 5 months after my mom died, and one 1 month after my dad died. It was a strange time for me as I was in shock from my parents untimely deaths, both falling like dominoes in succession. I should have know grief comes in threes. I found out I was pregnant on April Fools Day and Craig thought it was a joke. I wanted to call my mom, but I couldn’t and that broke my heart. I was excited for this new little baby, this beautiful gift that was formed because two people loved each other. The minute I found out I was expecting, I loved my baby. It was alive to me even when doctors told me at 9 weeks that there was no heartbeat. But to me, it lived, it was a child. It was a promise, it was my future and two days before my first Mother’s Day without my mom in 2014, my baby was lifted to heaven to be with my parents. It was another devastating and yet beautiful moment knowing my mom and dad were holding my baby. That was the only comfort I had during that time. I remember crying saying “what did I do wrong, why am I being punished. I’m a good person.” None of the matters, It was not my fault, and I had to accept that was my map, my journey. My heart was broken again, but I had to trust my life path, to trust God, to trust my body, and myself. It was a dark time, the road was covered in darkness for while, but I remembered mom telling me to go one. She said “when I die, don’t die to. Don’t let the bad win, learn from it, take it in, and keep going.” That is what I did. I picked myself up, and that’s when I went to France for 2 weeks to meditate, write and heal. It was a light shining on my path, showing me the way. So, I kept going Here’s the thing I learned after my 1st miscarriage. Not many people talk about it. Some people believe a miscarriage is not a real loss because many of us never get to see or hold our baby. You get robbed of the joys of giving birth for some and going through the stages of pregnancy. I was mad that I never got to round 2, second trimester, the eating whatever you want, gender reveals, baby clothes shopping, and feeling the flutter of a little kick. But for those who suffer miscarriage, there are organizations and support groups, but for many it’s still a silent loss. I grieved alone and little did I know, I would have to give up more babies on my life path. My second pregnancy was a successful Clomid attempt in June of 2016, but I miscarried at 5 weeks. It was not as rough as the first one which was surgery as this one was a natural process. The third miscarriage was in August of 2017. I was about 6 ½ weeks right in the middle of the nauseous, annoying yucky part and was I directing a wedding out of town. The show had to go on and I worked through the miscarriage telling myself to trust God, to listen, to pray, and to know another 2 babies were once again with mom and dad, or as I like to call them now, Nona and Poppy. I wish I could see then playing with my sweet angel babies. I remember crying after my parents died mad because they would never see me walk down an isle in a white dress, or hold their grandchildren. And I’m thinking this and smiling, which is so not right, but so peaceful to know I DID give then grand-babies. So now I will tell you about the fourth miscarriage that happened this past February. Craig and I had pretty much hung up the baby card. It was still on the side of the table, but not front and center. And, just like that, I found out I was expecting on Super Bowl Sunday. Goal!! The first thing I thought was, I’m 40 years old. Then, I was happy again, but cautious as we had learned to be. I had some health challenges, so we just took it day by day. 7 ½ weeks in, I was rushed to the Radiologist office on Valentine’s Day of all days for an ultrasound because they thought I may have an ectopic pregnancy. It was dangerous, I was high risk, elderly gravitas (seriously) as they call it. I was terrified. I went in alone since they would not let Craig back in case I was rushed into surgery, and once again was told there was no heartbeat and no ectopic pregnancy. But, the silver lining was that this pregnancy was the furthest the baby grew. A baby step, but I was still heartbroken. I had to go home on Valentine’s Day, the very same day 19 years earlier that I told Craig I loved him for the first time. This day, I told my 4th little sweet baby that I loved them too and I would see them all one day in heaven. I miscarried 2 days later. I have struggled with this one, but I sought out the strength of others; my friends, people I met along the way who have suffered too and know the pain of miscarriage, the grief of a loss. I will probably not try again for children and I am at peace knowing that not having kids will not define my life. My life will still be full and the path still ready for me.

I asked friends, and other brave women to shares their miscarriage journey with readers. My dear friend, Elaine Hughes has been a blessing and an anchor for me in times of pain and grief we helped each other through it. She has walked my path too and this is her journey losing her mom, and babies: There are no words to truly describe the sense of loss that comes from a miscarriage . . . overpowering sadness, absolute emptiness, heart wrenching sorrow, miserable yearning, utter failure... none of them feel adequate enough! I am a mom of four . . . three angels and one incredibly awesome earthly son. Helping my husband raise him into a fine young man has truly been my greatest joy and most fulfilling responsibility in life! After my second miscarriage, my aunt shared with me that God trusted me to create some precious angels for Him. Although it didn’t take away the emptiness from the void in my cradled arms, it did bring a sense of peace, knowing that it wasn’t all in vain. God trusted me . . .that in itself was a special blessing! I often thanked Him for the honor of using me for His good and I turned to this bible verse: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding" ~Proverbs 3:5 I truly believe my son’s heavenly siblings were by his side many times, protecting him from harm and injury, and even helping to steer him back on track when he started to wander off his path. Although my miscarriages were in ’86, ’89 and ’92, time has not healed the emptiness of their silence. The emotions are as raw today as they were back then. The tears easily flow and the sadness is overwhelming when I stop and think about the extremely short-lived lives my husband and I created. I am so very grateful for my living son and for the busyness of our lives, as that serves as a distraction for the grief of the memory of three unlived lives! I am also now able to smile as I imagine what each one of my angels would have been like. I look forward to meeting them when my time here is through. I love that Elaine allowed her faith to be her guide. We sometimes carry the weight of the past with us on the path, but sometimes, they are weights we will gladly bear knowing we can think of our children often.

I met a fabulous young woman named Tabitha who works the front desk at my OB office. Little did I know, we had a lot in common. I saw her often at my OB's office. She is always smiling and cordial and little did I know she was a master at hiding her pain. Her fertility journey is long and she is fierce. Hearing her story, I was moved. Her journey will move you too. The million dollar question about life after loss is always how? That is the most difficult word to try to explain honestly. Infertility is so hard, the most extreme roller coaster I have ever known. I finally received those two pink lines after 2 years of trying, however it was brought to a heartbreaking holt at 22 weeks. One of the hardest words an expecting couple can hear is, “I’m sorry your baby isn’t going to make it”. That is the sharpest knife to the gut for sure. After her passing I refused to stay in that dark miserable hole of grief. Since 2007 I have made it my personal duty as a mom of an angel to choose JOY, HAPPINESS and process that it happened for a reason. Did I have moments of anger and bitterness? Of course I did, I just made myself choose the opposite. I didn’t want to be know as “that” person who hated every single pregnant woman or completely avoided all baby sections in stores. Instead I wanted to embrace all babies and all people and spend hours picking the perfect baby shower gift for someone. I do work for a fertility OB/GYN office and get to experience both sides of this viscous cycle. It’s very humbling to see those who have finally conceived or to be the first person they can tell with such excitement and overwhelming joy in their voices. In the end, I simply want to be the light in someone’s darkness and even if my answer remains “no” after these 12 years, I will still choose LOVE, JOY and HAPPINESS. My mission will always be to talk about your journey, live transparent, celebrate the life of your miracle and embrace those who have never had the chance to even carry a child. That is how I choose to push and press on this bittersweet journey.

Grief in any form is hard, and we have to know we are not alone. Thousands of people have walked the same stretch of road as us. We have to talk about it, we have to share the grief, hand it to someone else, let them hold it in their hands to share its weight, and know it will all be Ok. Our path is still there waiting for us, another pothole or fork in the road, but the road is still long and we know that there are good things just around the next corner. Stand tall, be brave, and let’s walk our road, because we have some living to do. Tis post is dedicated to the many women who have suffered miscarriages, for those unable to have children, and the beautiful women who have shared their womb as acted as a surrogate. I also want to thank the doctors (Dr. Beverley Harris, Dr. Ester Smith, nurses and technicians (Ladena and Sarah) and the fertility doctors who were there during my fertility journey.